


Behind Closed Doors

by viklikesfic (v_angelique)



Category: Star Trek RPF
Genre: BDSM, D/s, Kink, M/M, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-11-30
Updated: 2009-11-30
Packaged: 2017-10-06 13:45:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,851
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/54305
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/v_angelique/pseuds/viklikesfic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I was a bit nervous writing this story, because I really look up to and respect luna as a writer.  I owe a lot to her own characterizations of some of these actors, and hope she'll forgive me for not being a little more unique.  Also, some suspension of disbelief may be necessary for filming timeline, etc.  Plot is just a catalyst to the p0rn.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Luna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luna/gifts).



**I. If Wishes Were Fishes**

Chris, it should be noted for the record, really didn't sign on for this.

When he'd agreed to do the movie, he'd barely paid attention to the cast list as it stood then, knowing that he'd only be on set for a couple of weeks anyway, and trusting that with J.J. directing and a budget this big it was unlikely to completely suck. Now, he's in his trailer on a fifteen-minute break, jerking his cock and fantasizing about Bruce Greenwood.

Bruce, he assumes, is straight, though his sexuality never comes up. Bruce _seems_ straight, anyway, but Chris doesn't need much to fuel his fantasies, and Bruce delivers that without one word of innuendo spoken.

His friend Rachel, back at home, says he has a competency kink. Rachel knows about everything having to do with sex, and if he ever did feel embarrassed about going to a girl for information about his sex life, he's long over that by now.

_"A competency kink. You know… it means you get really turned on by someone doing what they do well. Actually, I think you have a double competency hard-on for this guy."_

"Excuse me?"

"Think about it. You're fucking gone on his badass I-own-this-role mad acting skills, and then you're also crushing on the character. Who has badass I-own-this-starship mad captaining skills."

"I don't think captaining's a word."

"Blow me."

Is Rachel right? Chris isn't sure, but maybe Pike and Bruce do blend together in a way. He has that calm, self-assured demeanor that says "I know what the fuck I'm doing and if I like you, I can get you where you need to be." Chris definitely approves of that. He also can't ignore the flush to his skin whenever he does something right, whenever Bruce delivers a compliment. They're sparse, but meaningful, and usually go straight to his dick.

A gay Pike is actually easier to imagine than a gay Bruce. Chris thinks the Captain's got a serious case of hero worship going on for George Kirk, and that fantasy can be as fun to work with as the ones starring himself and Bruce. He thinks of Pike in black, with the little Starfleet emblem pinned to his shirt, getting bent over a bar somewhere and fucked into desperation. Would Bruce be willing to get fucked? He doesn't think so, but then, sometimes men like that surprise you.

Chris tightens his fist and bites his lip as he comes, coinciding with the assistant's shout.

"Five minutes!"

He wipes his hand and tucks in with a small, satisfied smile.   
**  
II. He Wore An Itsy Bitsy Teenie Weenie...**

It's late at night, and Chris is bored. The shoot's gone on forever, and now there's a light busted, so they've got an hour to wait. The main cast is in tonight too, doing a night shoot, and so Chris wanders to Anton's trailer, wondering if he might be around to play a bit of X-Box. He likes Anton; the kid's young but brilliant, and you quickly forget his age if you hang around him for a while.

He knocks lightly before tugging at the door, and when it gives he steps inside, his brain freeze-framing for half a second before he realizes what he's taking in. Anton sits in his chair, back to the mirror, legs spread wide. A sandy blonde head is situated between said legs, covering Anton's cock modestly until Chris Pine pulls off with a slurp and turns around, looking up at Chris in surprise. Honestly, Chris isn't really focused on the star of the movie, so taken aback as he is by Anton's appearance and the sharp twinge in his own cock at it.

The corset's pale pink silk, rosy and innocent.

The stockings are gauzy, black, and, well… not.

Garters.

Lipstick.

"Fuck me," Chris whispers.

"Close the door on your way out," Anton counters, evenly. Chris stares another moment, noticing Anton's own curls, no wig, no stripper heels, not all the accessories you'd expect, but definitely a _girl's_ clothing, and then he stops assessing and instead follows the instructions that Anton's sharp stare gives.

Back. The fuck. Up.

The door closes with a click of metal, and Chris stumbles down the hall.

**III. Heard It Through the Grapevine**

"Hey, man, I wanted to ask you…"

"Dude, I can't tell you anything more than what you saw."

"Huh?"

"I just don't feel right," Pine says, shrugging his shoulders and looking a little uncomfortable. "You want to know, ask Anton."

"Anton?" Chris frowns. "No, I mean, I've got that figured out, what I wanted to ask you was… uh… sworn to secrecy, mate, but… you don't happen to know anything about… Bruce, do you?"

"Bruce?"

"Yes. Bruce. I thought maybe, you know, if you're gay and all, you might know whether Bruce is…"

Pine's eyebrows shoot up. "Are _you_…?"

"Bisexual," Chris says quickly.

"Wow. I never guessed. But I'm not gay."

"Bisexual, too?"

"No," Pine says, not elaborating.

"Huh. So, Bruce…?"

"No idea about his sexuality, man, but I sucked him off once. Seriously, though—don't tell him."

"Oh. Wow."

"Seriously."

"I won't."

~*~

"Did Chris really suck you off?"

Bruce doesn't look up from his book.

"It sounds like you know the answer to that question."

"Yeah, well… he says he's not gay."

"Chris is what you might call a two-beer queer. Not that it's any of your business. And…"

"And?" Chris interrupts, his veins thrumming with nervous energy.

"Neither is my sex life. Do you enjoy seeing me angry?" Bruce asks, putting the book down and looking at Chris in the mirror. He stares.

"Uh… are you angry?"

"I am."

"At Chris?"

Bruce meets his gaze straight on. "No, Christopher."

Chris gulps. Somehow, this wasn't what he had in mind.

"Um… I have a plan."

"Do you?" Bruce asks evenly.

"I think… look, I know something about Anton."

"About Anton?"

"Yeah… yeah, he's gay too. Or bi or something, I don't know, but Chris was sucking his cock, and he was all tarted up, and he was kind of hot, so I was just thinking, you know, maybe we could all three get together, and you and I could, you know… fuck him. Since he likes that sort of thing."

He trails off, nerves tingling again, and Bruce holds his gaze in the mirror for a very long minute. Finally, he breaks the connection, picks up his book, and resumes his place. "Okay."

"_Okay?_"

"I'll arrange it."

Chris just keeps staring.

"Christopher? Shut your door on the way out."

~*~

**IV. Things Are Not Always As They Seem**

It would probably be silly to say that he can feel something in the air as he enters Anton's little apartment, except that it's so palpable, so thick in the atmosphere, that you'd have to be stupid not to feel a little bit spooked. Anton's eyes are hard, his expression unmalleable, his posture sure. What strikes Chris is that he's _steady_, just as he was when Pine was sucking his cock, now that Chris thinks about it, just as he always is. Anton doesn't seem to get nervous, and Chris is not sure how he managed to overlook that.

The hands that come to his waist are rough, strong, lifting his t-shirt over his head and he just lifts his arms dumbly, at a loss for what else to do. Bruce is an almost comforting presence behind him in comparison with the Anton that is at once out of character and completely, undeniably in it. Anton hasn't changed, Chris realizes. Chris just hasn't been very observant.

"You make a lot of assumptions, don't you?" Anton says, stepping forward and dragging an index finger up from Chris's sternum to his chin. He shivers when the fingertip brushes his throat, but doesn't drop his gaze when Anton lifts his chin and stares directly at him.

"What?" he manages to croak out when it's clear that a response is warranted.

"Think for a moment, Christopher," Bruce says in his ear, low and almost menacing, hands firmly holding his waist. If Anton's a panther, Bruce is a tiger, Chris decides in some abstract portion of his brain that doesn't want to confront this for what it is. "You assumed that because Anton likes to get 'tarted up,' as you so eloquently put it, that the also must be submissive in the bedroom. That he'd prefer to get fucked."

"Wrong," Anton brushes across Chris's lips. His whole body trembles, in a most un-manly way.

"You assumed that because Chris likes to suck dick, he's gay. You assumed that no one would be all that bothered by your spreading secrets around, or cavalierly suggesting a ménage à trois after you did so. Very rude of you."

"Very," Anton agrees, cupping the back of Chris's neck and kissing him slowly, possessively, his hand squeezing as his tongue dips into Chris's mouth, directing the pace, directing everything. Chris is putty in his cast mates' hands, and he can't really summon the brainpower to consider how he feels about this.

"Ever been fucked, Christopher?"

Oh yeah. Putty.

"Notice how he doesn't make an assumption there," Anton smiles against his lips, briefly re-establishing the character of the eager kid with whom Chris plays videogames before slipping back into something sinister with a sharp bite to the left of a collarbone. Chris hisses and lets more of his body weight sag against Bruce. "Consider this an educational experience."

Chris moans, then goes silent, before Bruce grabs a fistful of his hair and _yanks_, pulling Chris's head back against his shoulder, breath warm against Chris's cheek. His face screws up at the pain, but Anton's hand is now exerting pressure against his cock through the fly of his jeans and he's dimly aware that he has a hard-on, inconveniently enough.

"I asked you a question."

Chris blinks, tries to find some equilibrium, feels Anton's slender fingers massaging and Bruce's tightening and completely fails. "Ghn…uh…what was the question?"

"Have you," Bruce repeats, the tip of his tongue tracing from the top of Chris's cheekbone up to his temple, "Ever been fucked, Christopher?"

He is so dead.

"No," Chris whispers.

"Well then, this is going to be a unique experience." Chris feels Anton's smirk against his shoulder, and then he's being tugged by the wrist into the bedroom, his brain deciding not to come with, both of them staying close as they walk, as if he's a startled animal that might try to get away. And maybe it's a little emasculating to realize that he _won't_, even though he could fight both of them and get out of it, Bruce being older and Anton being considerably smaller.

"You have a safeword," Anton says, meeting Chris's eyes even as they flit to Bruce, who's walked over to Anton's dresser and is casually peeling his shirt over his head. "Look at me, Christopher."

His name sounds strange like that from Anton's lips, in that flat young American accent, as strange as it sounds natural from Bruce's. But he looks, and Anton continues.

"You have a safeword. If you say the words 'stop now,' we stop. No anger, no recrimination. We stop, and we take care of you, but it's over. That's always your choice. Otherwise, we're not going to stop."

Anton's words are clear, and he should probably use the out immediately, but Chris isn't just curious, he's practically burning with the need to continue this, and he has to face up to that. "I understand."

"Good. Drop your pants and your underwear. Get in the middle of the bed, kneel up, and put your hands behind your back."

Concrete instructions are something he can do, and he's stopped watching Bruce, focusing on getting his jeans off, his shorts, dick springing free, cheeks just a little flushed. He climbs up onto the bed and shuffles to its center, kneeling and gripping one wrist with the opposite hand. Anton circles the bed, eyes appraising, and Chris's mouth waters as he thinks about what might be next. What happens isn't what he expects, though, Bruce coming to the side of the bed and pulling Chris's hand away, pulling it out straight on the diagonal from his torso and kissing the inside of Chris's wrist, meeting his eyes.

No words are exchanged as Bruce fastens the soft brown leather cuff around Chris's wrist, no explanation of its significance is given. Bondage, he thinks, but then the wrist is replaced, and Anton is repeating the ritual with his left—raising it to rosy lips, kissing, fastening, releasing, replacing. Anton's hand presses gently between Chris's shoulder blades, and he lowers in a controlled movement until his cheek touches the sheet, his chest on his knees.

"Spread your legs apart," Anton directs, and Chris shifts, his chest contacting the mattress between them. His ass tightens up in anticipation of what comes next, but that isn't it at all. In fact, it's the stinging _smack_ of a hand on his ass—Bruce's, he determines after a moment's pause, followed immediately by another. Chris exhales sharply, but doesn't make a real sound.

Anton walks around the bed and takes a seat in his desk chair, turning it to face the bed. Chris turns his head to face him, meeting Anton's eyes. His expression is calm, observant. "Very good, Christopher," Anton says quietly as Bruce continues to hit with his open palm. Chris's chin tilts up towards Anton, as if the praise were a physical thing he could reach for. The smacks start to sting more as Bruce lays them over already reddened skin, but a curious thing also happens. The warmth seems to flow through Chris like a drug, his body relaxing, though his hands stay clasped behind his back. His eyes, too, go soft, just gazing at Anton as he feels the change come over him. There's no urgency now, he just wants to let whatever's happening happen. He feels a strong sense of trust towards these two men, though he's sure Bruce planned this as a lesson, though he's not sure Anton's prime feeling towards him is affection.

Still.

Anton rises from the chair, his hand resting loosely in Chris's hair, stroking, caressing. Bruce slows gradually, then there's a pause, and what he'd been expecting before comes, the slightly cold sensation of a fingertip pushing into his asshole. He's lost the reflex to flinch, though; he feels more like jello, and the hand in his hair calms him.

"Push out," Bruce says, his tone gentler than before, and Chris does, feeling the lubricated finger slip past his body's natural resistance. His eyes fall shut, and he grunts quietly, the hand in his hair methodical and unceasing as Bruce slowly works him open, finger by finger. And then it's Bruce's cock, thick and steadily driving forward, and the sound on his lips is a whining cry. His chest rubs against the sheet as Bruce gradually works his way inside, and Anton shifts to sit at Chris's head, his legs on either side of Chris's body. Anton opens his fly, and the head of his cock brushes Chris's lips, his tongue lapping instinctively to find the almost sour taste of precome left behind.

"That's it, _solnyshko_," Anton murmurs, holding his cock against Chris's mouth and stroking his hair with the other hand. He laps at it to satisfy his curiosity, like a kitten, until he establishes the taste. Then Anton feeds it to him and he's caught between the two of them, pulling back as Bruce thrusts in, slipping down onto Anton's cock when Bruce pulls back. He closes his eyes and moans, because there is no time to analyze these feelings, only to feel them, and his cock is hard and leaving wet streaks on his belly. Time slows down in these moments of half-aware discovery, and when Anton floods his mouth, his only thought as he swallows is "I like it." His only desire is that Anton keep stroking his hair, which he does as Chris's cheek comes to rest against his thigh, Anton's smell strong in his nostrils. Bruce is next, and then he is tugging Chris up, back against his chest. Still Chris's hands stay rooted at the small of his back, pressed against Bruce's stomach, fingertips brushing his softening cock. Bruce's arms anchor him in place and one hand brings him off quickly, tongue at Chris's ear, dirty words whispered at his ear as Anton holds his gaze relentlessly.

_Is this what you wanted?_

Yes.

Is this how you imagined it?

No.

Who do you belong to?

You.

How do you feel?

Good.

Chris isn't sure whether he speaks the words or only thinks them, doesn't care as he is cuddled between two men in a post-orgasmic haze, Anton's hand resuming its petting in his hair, Bruce's lips at his shoulder.

"I had a crush on you," he mumbles, reaching back to find Bruce's hand. A soft chuckle at his ear, a generous smile from Anton, and a squeeze in return are his answer.


End file.
